


maybe we’ll find a brand new ending

by mind_boggling



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, hospital au i guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 09:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15458265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_boggling/pseuds/mind_boggling
Summary: It was ironic. All the things he wanted to remember, tried to force himself to remember, were only erased and taken from his reach, and replaced by the torturous days, weeks, months, years, in Hydra.It was the only thing he knew with finality, and the one thing he wanted so desperately to forget.





	maybe we’ll find a brand new ending

**Author's Note:**

> a stevebucky multich fic... unknown as to how many chapters as of yet. 
> 
> based on a prompt i saw a long time ago abt bucky visiting dementia patients to talk to them because he can understand how they feel as they’re constantly trying to be someone they don’t remember being at all. 
> 
> the narrative in this au is different to the mcu timeline. everything that happened to bucky remains the same, except steve is not captain america. steve is just a Regular Joe in this au.

It was a piece of closure he never thought he’d get. Strangely reassuring and satisfying, but something that still filled him with that tiny bit of sadness that snowballed into a deep hanging ache at the pit of his stomach. It would never go away. The things you want to forget stay the longest, and the memories you cherish can’t move on quick enough. It was ironic. All the things he wanted to remember, tried to force himself to remember, were only erased and taken from his reach, and replaced by the torturous days, weeks, months, years, in Hydra. 

It was the only thing he knew with finality, and the one thing he wanted so desperately to forget. 

He spent his days in the hospital closest to his apartment. There was a specific ward for dementia patients, or those with alzheimer’s, and it was strangely where he felt most at home. These people who didn’t even know their own names, let alone where they were and what was happening to them, reminded him oddly of himself. It was as if looking in a mirror, almost. 

He never looked in the mirror, much. Not at all if he could manage it. He hated looking at himself; looking at the dark bags under his eyes, the permanent scars on his face from battles he doesn’t even remember partaking in. He looks in the mirror and if he looks long enough, he sees the person he hates most staring back at him. The Hydra agent. The Winter Soldier. 

On the contrary, there are days when he looks in the mirror and sees Sergeant Barnes. Someone whose days were limited, life cut short by a desolate snowy mountain. Someone whose last view was the blizzard, as he fell through the air away from a jet with the entirety of his team on. 

_Sergeant Barnes, was the only man to give his life in service to his country._

And there are days where he wants to remember Sergeant Barnes, but even that is tainted. Ruined by Hydra, like a painting with blotches of ink running all different colours, a complete contrast to the artwork itself. Drabs of another life, intertwined with one that didn’t ask for it, a life that could’ve survived on its own. Where he could’ve died from the fall. Made peace with the loss of his life. Instead he loses an arm and is turned into a lab rat. 

Most of the nurses knew him by name. The flexibility of the visits allowed him to lead a dual life. He enjoyed this. One day he woke up feeling a certain way; some may even call it a good day. A day where he doesn’t mind waking up. A day where he makes a positive connection with himself, where a memory is triggered and he fishes his notebook from on top of the refrigerator. Scribbles it in blue ink. Certainty. 

Another day he’d wake up in a battle with himself. Sometimes he stirred with an ache in his brain. A minute where he was unfamiliar with his surroundings, where the darkness surrounding him reminded him of the Hydra compound. These usually took place in the dead of the night- exactly where the demons know how to get you. How to target you. They work best in the dark; feed off of the absence of light and power themselves with it. And he wakes the next morning with nothing but the nightmares on his mind. It sets the entire day into motion of battle. A day where he sometimes wishes he hadn’t even woken up at all.

He could play out these two different versions of himself in the dementia ward; they didn’t know him. They didn’t know a thing about him, what had happened in the past. Only the man who turned up to talk to them every day. He could choose who to be there and then. Some days he was James Barnes; a guy from Brooklyn who fought in World War II. _No you didn’t! You’ve aged well, haven’t you?_ Some days he was Bucky; the man who fell off of a train track and lost his arm. Some days he was a mixture of the two; Bucky Barnes, Hydra victim, public villain- blamed for things he didn’t do or didn’t consciously act in. 

He just wanted to be someone new, someone fresh; and in a place where people didn’t even know who they were, was the place he could do it. The place he could help others find the comfort to do this too.

Bucky walked through the revolving doors of the hospital, a small step at a time. It was always daunting to approach the desk, even though they’d give him a warm smile and a volunteers badge. The woman on the desk was young, but clearly not interested. He almost thought she was scared of him, the way she moved about him. Her eyes stayed glued to the computer screen, only looking at him when necessary.

“Good morning, Mr. Barnes. It’s nice to see you” She smiled as Bucky wrote his name into the visitors book. Handing over the badge, Bucky smiled tightly in response before heading down the hallway. His baseball cap fell lopsidedly on his head, and he pulled it off, feeling it in his hands as he secured the badge on his jacket. It was fraying at the edges, the seams falling apart and threads hanging loose. The edges of his sleeves were almost gone- having clutched onto them so tightly that they had disappeared. Clutched out of fear, out of pain. 

He walked into through the double doors, a sign above it labelled _Dementia / Memory Loss Ward_. It was usually quiet; he visited at a time when the patients never had their own visitors. Bucky didn’t really think it would go down well with the patients’ families that a strange guy who was namely a terrorist at one point was visiting their patients. Each person he spoke to, he used a different name, so that if they were to mention it to one of their family members, it would be dismissed with the illness. 

But today, there was something different about the ward. Something was off- there was a presence of someone else in the ward, someone else who didn’t belong there, or wasn’t a usual visitor. It made Bucky uneasy, and he hesitated by the door as if ready to leave hastily. If he’d been made by someone, by Hydra- it could be fatal. A panic rose within him at the mere thought of having to go back there. He didn’t want to, it was one of the last things he wanted.

“You’ve lived a life, haven’t you?” The voice was soft, a little gravelly. Bucky didn’t recognise it, but it didn’t set off alarm bells within him, either. It was another visitor. Someone in the very first room on the left. He approached the door quietly to continue listening, his loud heartbeat being the only thing in his ears at that minute. He needed something to drown it out. The voice was male. He laughed, the patient replying in a croaked voice that Bucky couldn’t make out. “It’s just a shame to see you go”

Bucky’s mind couldn’t form a picture of what this man may look like, but his voice was prominent, definitive. He knew what he was doing and what he was saying- knew how to talk to this patient and how to swerve the bad questions and angle the good ones. Bucky only frowned, his original thought of him possibly being a Hydra operative resurfacing. No-one has that much confidence and isn’t part of something much bigger. It was just the way he’d learned to think.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?”

He didn’t realise he was stood leaning against the wall, doubled over with his hands on his knees. The breath had been knocked right out of him- the panic overflowing leaving him uneasy and unsteady. The man’s touch was soft on Bucky’s arm as he placed a grip on his bicep. Luckily it was his right arm. His panic attack had gone on for longer than he was even aware of; the male in the room having finished his conversation and left the patient’s room to find him there. 

Bucky looked up toward him, eyes darting over his entire body to scour for possible weapons. The usual places seemed empty; boot cut, pant line, jacket pocket. He was a seemingly regular guy on second glance- thick stubble growing and blue eyes, a furrowed frown of thick brows on his forehead. His mouth was agape with confusion, maybe even slight panic himself? Bucky couldn’t tell. He swallowed.

“Yeah” He answered, pulling his arm away from the male’s grip. “Excuse me,” he said, beginning to head off down the hallway back toward the exit. _Don’t get too close. Don’t let them touch- don’t let them see. Don’t let them near. Don’t let them in. Close it off. You’re not to be touched, not to be meddled with. You are a weapon. Mass destruction. If he touches you- he dies._

It was in bad moments like these when their voices were still so visceral. So prominent. They could transform him in an instant. Interwoven with his panic, they were a deadly weapon in itself. Something that he couldn’t switch off, something that could activate everything bad within him. But his irrational thoughts couldn’t be countered with the rationality of the fact that this man had already touched him. Nothing happened.

“Hey, wait up” He called down the hallway, jogging a little to keep up. Bucky eventually stopped, his breathing erratic and his need for calm serenity overpowering. He took a longer look this time, the male in front of him offering a friendly smile and a helping hand. He almost took it, but the voices rang in his head once again. “Are you alright? Do you need me to get help?”

Bucky shook his head. “No” Held his hands up, almost in surrender. The only thing he really knew how to do when someone unknown approached him. The one thing he was conditioned to do other than fight his way out of a situation. “No, thank you. I’m okay” 

He smiled again. “Are you a patient here?”

Bucky’s volunteer badge was strewn across the floor ahead of him, having been ripped off in the midst of his panic. He probably looked like a patient now, so he wasn’t surprised. He managed a shake of his head. “No. I’m a volunteer. I- I’m just a bit of company for them, you know?”

His frown softened, and a genuine look of awe appeared on his face. This caused Bucky to relax a little, letting his body fall limp from his tense stupor. He even managed to stand up straight, aligning himself with the male in front of him- they were about the same height. “Are you? That’s sweet. Really, that’s so nice of you. I take it you’ve spoken to Peggy, then?”

It came out of his mouth rather quickly, maybe even harsh. “No. Sorry. No, I haven’t. I usually speak to Elsie and Harold most days. They’re the ones I can relate most to, I guess” He knew the minute he’d let it slip that it was the wrong decision. He’d start asking questions and Bucky would have to explain it for a millionth time. Or lie, there was always that option. But he seemed too nice to lie to. Even this was a test on Bucky’s radar- was he too nice because he wanted personal gain or was he just a friendly stranger?

“Peggy’s a family friend. She’s getting on a bit now, and we’re not really sure how long she’s got left” He began speaking rather quickly, Bucky not being able to remove himself from the situation or even excuse himself directly. The male rambled on, about Peggy and how she’d had dementia for a few years now. She was born in England but moved over here when she married. It re-jogged Bucky’s memory once more; he had spoken to her. She talked a lot about a man named Howard. “Hey man, why am I even telling you this stuff? You don’t care. I’m sorry. It was just me trying to calm you down, I guess. Panic attacks can be a real bitch, you know? I get ‘em. We all do at some point, probably. You’ve just gotta distract yourself while you calm down. It can be hard at the time but it does work a treat”

Bucky was dumbfounded at his response. His mouth fell agape a little, and he looked toward the male standing there with such calm contentedness on his face. Bucky couldn’t even talk to cashiers or receptionists, but this guy just poured out half a life story to a stranger. “I’m sorry” He dragged Bucky from his thoughts. “I just... You looked like you could use some help. That’s all. Maybe see you around”

He was gone before Bucky could even thank him. It was a bizarre interaction- Bucky said all of ten words to him yet had to fight the urge to follow him and listen to him talk even more. His voice had the serenity of a therapist. Someone trustworthy. Not too formal, not too rigid. Still room for a casual relationship. A friend, maybe. But a close one. Someone you can tell just about anything to- they’ve got you. 

Instead, he walked down the hallway once more and picked up his volunteer badge. Secured it back onto the corner of his jacket. Placed his baseball cap back on his head. _You looked like you could use some help. That’s all._

Bucky spent so long trying to help these dementia patients that he forgot that he needed help sometimes, too. The thought died on his lips as he ducked into the nearest room. Elsie’s room. She was always the most delighted to see him. Somehow she remembered him. Every time. It was moments like those that helped him believe that maybe he could be like that again. That he could have some sort of consistency in his life that could break through the loss and decay inside of his mind. Like Elsie’s memory of him. Of James. 

_“Hello, James, dear. How are you?”_

She compliments his hat and complains about the frayed jacket. Almost like routine.

It was encounters like the one in the hallway that helped Bucky believe there was hope. Believe that there was a chance at there someday being a day where he doesn’t panic. Where he doesn’t fear something bad happening. Where he can lead a normal life and encounter strangers normally. Normalcy was all he wanted. A piece of quiet for him to lay his head down, where his nightmares couldn’t bother him and his demons wouldn’t follow. Somewhere in the sun- somewhere they’d disintegrate into dust. 

There’s someone else in the sunlight too. It’s inside of his mind that night. The patch of grass where he can lay peacefully among the flowers and the whistling grass blades in the wind. A place where he’s untouchable. Where he can live out his happiest moments and relax to the fullest extent. Somewhere where his demons cannot step, where they cannot survive. Like a fish out of water. A human drowning inside of a reef. He wakes to a serenity he has missed with everything. 

The next day, he’s there. Bucky realises he didn’t catch his name before. He feels as though he’ll approach him. Sometime. To thank him, of course. 

To thank him.

**Author's Note:**

>  **title:** song lyrics from ‘ _lost stars_ ’ by _kiera knightly_
> 
> contact me elsewhere:
> 
>  **twitter:** vanlangs  
>  **tumblr:** bisexualieberman


End file.
